


Some Drink to Remember, Some Drink to Forget.

by LadyMeg



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, But I just can't with these two, Drabble, F/M, One Shot, There's No Point To This, first fic, why can't they just be happy goddammit?!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 11:35:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5455106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMeg/pseuds/LadyMeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor had never been big on drinking but there had been a couple of times in his life, times that had always involved his bloody wife, that he had found himself unable to resist temptation...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Drink to Remember, Some Drink to Forget.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from When It's Good - Ben Harper

_After the first glass, you see things as you wish they were._

_After the second, you see things as they are not._

_Finally, you see things as they really are, and that is the most horrible thing in the world_

_-Oscar Wilde_

 

The Doctor had only intended to take her out for a simple dinner on Planet 92. That was all. Nothing extravagant, just a nice night away from Stormcage, a congratulations for getting through ten years of her sentence – not that she’d actually spent much time in her cell, but that was neither here nor there. She’d been a prisoner for ten years and really, any opportunity to bring her out and celebrate should be taken. Planet 92 served fantastic food so she was bound to enjoy herself. Plus they had one of the strongest alcohols this side of the galaxy…

But he hadn’t taken that into consideration. In fact, it wasn’t until the waiter had approached, he had even realised his mistake at all.

“May I get you a drink, Madame?”

“Ohh, I think you may”. He had seen the sparkle in her eyes as she scanned the menu and noted the Vaxopar and he’d had to tell her multiple times that, no, he did not want one. Although he had to admit, he’d very nearly given in when she pouted those devilish lips of hers and batted her eyelashes at him.

“Oh, go on Doctor. You know I love it when you’ve had a drink or two”, she had cooed. The Doctor shook his head and told her in no uncertain terms that he would _not_ give into her she-magic. There was absolutely nothing she could do to make him drink with her tonight. No, Sirey.  She had simply smirked at him and given up   - a little too easily, he may add - but they had both known he was lying; if she'd have set her mind to it, she could have him intoxicated and dancing on the tables before he could say _River, you Minx._

Dinner had run smoothly and the Doctor had been surprised to note she had limited herself to just the one glass. It was unlike his River to pass up the opportunity to get drunk and flirt outrageously. She usually set herself the task of embarrassing him as much as she possibly could. It was a game he both loved and loathed. But right now, she’s at the bar again and he knows that can only mean trouble. She had managed to get the attention of the barman particularly quickly but that wasn’t entirely surprising when you took into consideration how far she was leaning over the bar and the view down her dress the man was undoubtedly getting. The Doctor rolled his eyes at the woman’s flirtatious ways. Another man might have been upset at how unashamedly she was flirting with someone else right in front of him, but not the Doctor. He knew that when you fell in love with River Song, your jealousy was nobody’s problem but your own. She was fiercely loyal, but that didn’t stop her being outrageously brazen.

“Are you sure?” the Doctor almost rolled his eyes as he witnessed the innocent act he had seen so many times before. Poor guy. He would probably never realise he had been well and truly played. “Gosh, that’s so very kind of you. Thank you, darling” River gushed as she picked up her free drinks and turned to the Doctor with a wide smile and a smug wink. It was only then that he noticed she wasn't carrying one glass of silver liquid, but two. 

“River, I told you no. No. I am not drinking with you”

“Sweetie, go on. Just one. It’s my anniversary. I’m locked up for the rest of my life because of you, after all.” He knew she meant it as a soft jibe but the truth of her words slapped him in the face. Really, how could he say no…

She laughed with pure delight as he took the drink from her hand with a huff and threw it back. It was only as he slammed the glass down on the bar did he feel the sharp sting of the drink burning its way down his throat.

“Ughhh, River that’s vile!” he yelled, swiping his lips with the back of his hand.

“I know” River grinned, raising her drink to her lips and, never one to be outdone, finished it just as quickly as the Doctor had. The pair stared at each other for moment. Despite the fact they went out for meals on a regular basis, they were more often than not interrupted by some form of alien invasion. They seldom got to the point in the night when they could relax and simply enjoy each other’s company. Of course, they enjoyed the abandoned meals, the broken tables, the smashed doors and _oh_ , did they adore the running. But the prospect of an invasion-free night was something else altogether. A smile broke across Rivers lips and she tilted her head to one side, one hand slung on her hip.

“Dance with me, Doctor”. It wasn’t an invitation, it was a demand and he wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. Opening his mouth to answer her, he closed it without making a sound. Instead, he just continued studying her. She had started the evening with her hair carefully pinned on top of head but the unruly curls were now starting to work their way loose and fall around her face. Reaching out, he gently pushed an escapee away from her eyes but instead of the tender gesture he had intended it to be, River let out a burst of laughter.

“You sentimental idiot,” she laughed, “Now, Doctor. Dance with me”. She momentarily held her hand gently to his cheek before sliding it down his arm and twining her fingers with his. As she let out what could only be described as a giggle that was so very unlike River, the Doctor thought how the alcohol was surely buzzing through her veins. He could already feel it pumping around his body himself, the slight light-headedness feeling really rather wonderful.

He felt himself being pulled towards the dance floor and then his hands were curved around hips, steadying her as she swung herself round to face him a little too quickly. Her hand landed on his chest and she looked up to him with wide eyes.

“My, my, my. You are eager” she grinned. And then she was out of his arms and dancing across the floor to the strange electro swing music that played through the bar. With her arms raised above her head and her hands twisting in the air, she swayed to the music with her eyes closed and a drunkenly content smile at the corner of her lips. The Doctor was aware of the people around her moving out of the way of the siren, giving her more room in which to sway her hips. He could feel the eyes of the barman raking over her but really, he couldn't blame him for his eyes were doing exactly the same thing. He wondered for a moment what was more intoxicating; her or the alcohol. He decided it wasn’t a fair fight but enjoying them both together was pure bliss.

Deciding he could not be this far away from her for a second longer, he threw his hands above his head and began waving them in his favourite giraffe dance move as he made his way towards her. Opening her eyes as he approached, River threw her head back and laughed heartily. He was sure that had she been seen with him like this at any other time she would be mortified but now, she copied him. The strange pair danced closely together, a couple of out-of-place oddballs in the middle of the floor trying to out-giraffe the other. It was right there and then that the Doctor thought he couldn't love her more. Inches apart, slopping smiles on both their faces, the Doctor found he couldn’t help himself and so leant forward and pressed a quick kiss to her lips.

Instead of pulling away, River twined her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him back to her. He wasn’t expecting the deep kiss that she planted on him, her tongue briefly running over his lips and fighting with his own before she was gone once more, off dancing through the crowd and heading over back towards the bar. He knew he had fallen for a madwoman. He had known that from the minute she had whispered his name into his ear with such sorrow all those years ago. There was only one kind of woman the Doctor could fall in love with and that was a Hurricane. He needed the destruction and the damage. He needed the chaos and the escaping and every single _Run, Sweetie_. He needed to be reminded that he may be the hero of many stories, but every hero needs someone to fight for and that was his brilliant psychopath who was throwing back another drink and swaying back towards him with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

Her had promised himself centuries ago that there was never a day he would stop fighting for her. He will save her. But for now, he simply wishes this evening would carry on forever. It’s not often the Doctor wishes he were ‘normal’, but now is one of those times. He wishes so hard it actually aches that he had never seen the death of this divinely drunk woman spinning in front of him. From the outside, he is sure they look like any other couple and oh, how he wishes that right here and now that were true. They could be Amy and Rory, Martha and Mickey; just two people in love dancing the night away. A man holding up his better half as she repeatedly stumbles on her heels and laughs as his hands grab her waist. He’d never envied his humany companions more, with their linear timelines and ridiculous obliviousness of what’s to come.

And as River Song attempts to plant another sloppy kiss on his mouth, the Doctor pretends to unsuccessfully dodge her. He grumbles about the taste of the alcohol on her but they both know he’s revelling in the feel of her lips against his. As he grabs her by her hips and holds her close, twirling her across the dance floor and between other couples, he wishes on every star he has every visited, every deity he has ever met, that this moment could last forever.

The alcohol in his system _nearly_ convinces him that it can.

\--- 

He’s getting used to being in one place. Sure, he may be craving the spin of the vortex and yeah, when he thinks about it he is maybe a _tiny_ bit lonely, but he’s getting used to it. Normally he’s pretty bloody good at forgetting – well, not forgetting. _Pretending_ to forget. Okay, so he can ignore the absolute stabbing in his hearts at having lost every damn thing that meant anything to him. The Ponds, his glorious Ponds were gone and he would never see them again. And then of course there was River –

“Sweetie, are you ever going to get off this damn cloud?”

His beautiful wife who he had said goodbye to so many times and it never got any bloody easier.

“And I thought you didn't drink anyway? I distinctly remember you telling me “ _Rivah, I don’t need alcohol. I’m Lord of Time and Space. It has no effect on me”_. Ha. You definitely shouldn’t be drinking alone, I know how well that always ends”.

So now it was time for him to sit and sulk and hang up his travelling hat.

“I suppose I should just be glad you’re not wearing one of your godawful hats. I don’t know how it’s possible but your choices in headwear seem to get even  _worse_ when you’ve had a drink”

God, could she read his bloody mind or something? He supposed that she could seeing as she was a mere figment of his over-active, self-torturous imagination. He’d tried so hard to get rid of the woman who lingered in the corner of his eye. He’d tried everything, he’d even resorted to begging the TARDIS, but that had just caused her to throw her head back and let out a light laugh. He was now on his last resort – alcohol. He had hopes that his vision would blur so much that he could no longer see the edges of his wife but two glasses in, he feels positively dizzy and it still wasn’t working.

As he sat on the steps of the console room, he heard her let out a sigh. His imagination was clearly much better than he had ever thought because he was sure he could feel her breath fall across his cheek. From the corner of his eye, he could see her sat next to him, her chin rested in her palm and her elbow propped on her knee, leaning towards him.

“You never liked drinking with me, did you? Hmm? I always had to practically force it down you. Personally, I think you were a bit intimidated. Never could keep my hands off you when I’d had a drink” She laughed softly beside him and he only just managed to stop himself nodding in agreement. River when she’d had drink was all handsy and grabby and very very naughty…

“But then as soon as you can’t see me, you’re drinking without me!” she managed to sound both amused and indignant and he had known she wouldn’t be happy with him as soon as he poured that first glass. “I have to say, I’m disappointed, Sweetie. I’d have loved to have you drunk and under my control”.

She doesn’t know he is and always has been under her control. Or was that… she was the one under his control? He’d thought so for a while and so he’d tried to get her to disappear. He’d imagined her standing up and walking out of the TARDIS doors, closed his eyes and seen the movements so clearly. Yet she remained, always standing beside him or sat watching him from the steps or trailing a hand lovingly along the buttons and levers and switches of the console.

No, no. He was definitely the one firmly under the thumb of his deceased wife.

But he was quite convinced that having her here beside him was killing him. She was close enough for him to be able to smell the heady musk perfume she always wore in an attempt to get rid of the scent of the vortex that caught in her curls. So close and yet he was unable to talk to her.

She wasn’t really there, the Doctor reminded himself again as he took in a deep breath. His head is foggy and he’s not sure if it’s due to the empty glass in his hand or the laughter of his wife by his side. Maybe he could just –

“Always so dramatic, Doctor. Noone is here to see you sulk and yet, here you are,” she tutted at him and he knew the eye roll she surely gave, “I always thought you needed an audience but clearly I was wrong”.

One night. One night of speaking to her. It would be okay, wouldn’t it? He probably won’t even remember in the morning. He can lock it up in the back of his mind with all the other memories that were far too painful for him to dwell on.

“Having said that, the amount of times I’ve popped in to find you wallowing in self-pity…” she trailed off at the memory.

He could do it. He’d been ignoring her because he knew it would kill him. He didn’t know if he could withstand the pain of speaking to his beloved wife without his hearts stopping and crumbling to dust with the knowledge that she truly was gone. He was sure that talking to her would give him hope and there was nothing worse than a spark of hope when you knew, deep down, that really there was none whatsoever.

“But you always had your little companions, Doctor. Sooner or later the TARDIS would bring you to one of your enchanted human girls and they would take your mind away from your pity party”.

And then of course there was the inkling he had that she was destined to remain in the corner of his eye forever more. He was half convinced that if he were to turn and look at her completely, she would fade away and he would be left alone. Having her hovering in the corner of his mind, pressing against every movement of his vision, driving him crazy with her endless monologue that pointed out all of his flaws and dragged up every painfully happy memory, surely that was better than not having her there at all?

“You need to find a new one, Doctor. I’ve told you not to travel alone. It’s not good for you”, she sounds weary and he knows she’s right but he just can’t find it in him to replace his magical Ponds. “Go and pick up some doe-eyed girl who wants adventure. Promise her the world and then show her the universe. Do what you do best and go make someone happy. Fix them. Be you again, my love. Go out and find someone”.

He can feel her getting irate next to him and he can’t really blame her; she’d spent weeks lecturing him on what happens to him when he’s alone, about the darkness that surrounds him and sinks into his thoughts. _It’ll only poison you in the end, Sweetie._ “

Why? I have you, don’t I?”

There is silence as her jaw drops open and he can feel her eyes boring into him. Neither of them move, his eyes remain firmly forward and he can feel the breath escape her, fluttering across his cheek. A moment passes.

“You…?” He closes his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath, gathering the courage to do it. He’s avoided this moment for so long and it had been such a challenge. His eyes had nearly wandered over to her a thousand times and he had had to fight to keep them away from the face of the woman he adored more than any other. But now he turned to her slowly and found her looking at him with nothing but shock in her eyes, her lips parted in sheer disbelief. “

I have you, don’t I” he repeated but this time, there was no question in his inflection. He had her, he had his wife, sat right beside him leaning closer towards him with her eyes flitting between his. He wasn’t sure if she was aware of her hand slowly rising and coming closer to his cheek.

“You can…see me” she breathed and he nodded.

“I can always see you, River.” As her palm made contact with his skin, they both gasped quietly.

“I know you’re not really here but… I can’t ignore you anymore”. River looked at him with confusion, her brow furrowed.

“I’m not here? Sweetie, I am. I’m here, you stupid old man” she let out a fond, wet laugh. “I’m here just as much as you are”. The Doctor leant into her hand a little more and closed his eyes for a moment.

“I’m not sure I’m here at all, River” when he opened his eyes again, she was smiling at him with that gentle smile she saved for when he needed reassurance and unending love.

“How long have you –“

“Always. I saw you the second you waltzed through my TARDIS doors and dumped yourself in my crash chair” his words are accompanied by a rather over the top arm gesture to demonstrate the way she had thrown herself in his chair with a sigh that had marked the moment he started ignoring her.

“Then why didn’t you speak to me?” She asked, confused. The Doctor fixed his eyes on River.

“I thought it would kill me” he says simply, and the sad smile that falls over her lips doesn’t go unnoticed. “No River, it’s okay,” he reassured her, reaching up and taking the hand pressed to his cheek in his “I can do this. I… It was killing me _not_ talking to you”.

“You’re drunk” she told him sadly. She knew him. She knew that he believed in impossible things when he was drunk – things like linear relationships and timebabies and _travel with me, River_ – and she knew this was one of them. The both of them in the TARDIS. She had been the epitome of selfishness when she had decided to haunt him but it was only supposed to be for an hour, a day, max. But when she had realised he couldn’t see her… well. Things had escalated and she had never really left.

“And you’re beautiful. And you’re _here_ , River” She saw the spark light in his eyes for what that meant. “You’re here and… we can travel. We can do anything, we can be _together_ ”. He suddenly jumps to his feet with more energy than she had seen him possess in the last couple of months. He reaches for the bottle precariously propped on the console but decides better and shoves it into her hands instead. Taking it from him, she slides it onto the step next to her without bringing it to her lips, but he doesn’t seem to care, suddenly more wrapped up in how solid she seems in front of him. Reaching out, he grabbed her hand and yanked her to her feet, delighting in the shock of laughter that falls from her.

“Don’t ever leave me” he whispers, pulling her into him and burying his face in her curls. She wants to tell him she won’t; she’ll stay by his side, chained to his TARDIS, the perfect wife forever waiting for him to return to her and come home. She’d like to say the words but they won’t come out and she tries not to dwell on whether the cause is the tight lump in her throat or her inability to convince herself with her lies, let alone him.

“Stay” he says simply, the word a mere breath against her skin and her nod is so slight she’s not even sure he feels it until he’s releasing a deep breath of relief and pulling her body ever close to his.

Neither one of them knows how long they stand together, arms wrapped tightly around the other, and neither one of them cares. The sharp smell of the alcohol on his breath becomes part of him and she’s sure he’s going to have a vicious hangover from the cosmic liquor in the morning, but she can feel him smiling against her neck now and that’s all that really matters. 

... 

When he becomes aware of the throbbing pain behind his eyes, he feels like the world is collapsing in behind his eyelids. The stiffness in his neck is white hot and as he raises a hand to the aching muscles and attempts to stretch the pain away, he hears an agonised groan crack the silence in the room. It takes a minute to realise it came from him.

Next to him, he feels a weight dip the bed and it sends a lightning bold of pain through his head. But that’s nothing in comparison to the agony that spears through his hearts as the waft of River Song shocks his brain and brings the memories of the previous night tumbling through his mind. She was right here. His beautiful brilliant wife who had found a way back to him and –

“Hello, Sweetie”.

How many times had he heard those words? How many times had that ridiculous promise of spoilers fallen from her lips and in how many situations? He’d almost cried in relief as they were muttered in quiet caves as he had been bound and blindfolded with no possible way out. He’d barely understood them as she had yawned and stretched in the morning, reluctant to get ready for her days lecturing. He had felt the venom in them as they had been spat at him from across 16th century ball rooms.

But never had he heard them with the trepidation that laced them now, the unasked question at the end which was such a complicated swirl of hope and sadness it was hard to believe they lived in two words so small.

He could feel her eyes burning into him and he could see himself turning to look at her, his hands reaching out and taking hers. He’s press a kiss to her skin and he could almost see the smile that would break over her lips.

But he couldn’t do that to her. No. _Rule One_. He couldn’t do that to himself. Knowing she was here, her data ghost locked in an eternal half-life, waiting for him but never being able to experience the universe like she was made to do… it would kill him to watch. She wouldn’t complain, she would hide the damage just like she always did but he’d wrapped his wife in chains for far too long. He’d burdened her in life with the weight of loving him, he simply could not do it in death.

“Doctor?” The question was more of a plead and defeat didn’t sound quite right on River Song. He shut his eyes tight and balled his fists under the duvet hoping the pain that the actions shot through his body would drown out the waves of sadness he could feel coming off his wife but to no avail. She let out a sorrowful sigh followed by a short bitter laugh.

“You know, you nearly did it, Doctor,” she spoke calmly to the room and he could picture her, eyes to the ceiling, shaking her head, “You nearly convinced me everything would be alright."

...

As time passes, he gets good at pretending to ignore her again. He sees her hovering in the corner of his vision just as he had before but now she’s more vocal and he wonders if that’s her way of punishing him.

 _Still too good for environmental checks, huh?_ _Of course, you **do** know better, don’t you sweetie_.

_Fine, kill yourself in your self-imposed eternal loneliness for all I care._

_You idiot man, why can’t you just **take the bloody breaks off?!**_

As she violently threw the switches for the blue stabilisers he had to turn away from her and tut, gently admonishing his beloved TARDIS as he feigned ignorance to Rivers presence.

He doesn’t know how long it is before she calms down but he has his suspicions that it’s a good couple of hundred years. It’s even longer before he sees her watching him out of the corner of his eye. He’s intently fiddling with wires that he doesn’t really understand the purpose of but he needs something to distract him from her intense stare.

“I think I might have imagined it,” she says gently and he’s quite impressed with how he stops his hands from stilling to listen to her.“I might have just dreamt the whole thing, might’en I? I don’t think you’d leave me like this, Doctor. My beloved idiot,” she sighs heavily and the Doctor takes the opportunity to quickly blink away the tears stinging his eyes. “I don’t think you could do this to me knowing it was killing me more than any library ever could”.

He is in awe as to how someone who knows his deepest secrets could be so unaware of his selfishness.

...

The next time he looks directly at her, the shock in her eyes nearly stops his hearts.

The next time he speaks to her he’s ending his life with River on a lie in the name of Love.

_See you around, Professor._

He _almost_ convinces himself that he will.

\---

He can’t quite remember how long it’s been. Too long is the only answer he would be able to give to the question. Too long since he waved his wife goodbye and sent her to her death. Too long since she had strolled into his life and then so very quickly burnt out of it. She’d been a fiery beacon of things to come and he had so desperately wanted to save her; this incredible mind could not be lost to him before he had even had the chance to get to know it. So he had given her exactly what he thought she would have wanted and although the guilt that the unknown creature had given herself in his place gnawed at him, he had eased his mind with the knowledge that he had _saved_ her. How many others had laid down their lives and simply been lost to history, no ceremony, no goodbyes, just eternal blackness? River would be able to explore every story that ever was. She was with her friends in infinite worlds and infinite possibilities. In the times he found himself alone in his TARDIS and caught his mind wandering to the mad woman, he reassured himself that he had done what she would had wanted.

And that had worked for a while.

Right up until the very next time he saw her. He was still so young, still so uncertain if he could trust her, what she meant to him, why it was his future self had given everything he could to the woman he had already seen dying on his behalf. It was after that second meeting, after she had vanished in a swirl of dust, that he began to feel the doubt creeping in. And with each meeting after that, doubt turned into knowledge. River, _his_ River, would never have been happy trapped in that database. She could – and did – have every tale at her fingertips, every thrill and adventure that ever made the transition from mind to paper, and she wouldn’t be happy. River was not interested in the imaginings of men or the ideas of women, she was interested in living. She was so full of life that every greeting she threw his way was a painful reminder to the Doctor that he had taken that from her and stuffed her within the pages of old books, bound her there under the label of ‘saved’.

He’d done everything he could. He really had. As he raced through the universe with one hand trailing behind him in the hopes his clever, clever wife would do what she always did best and save herself and come chasing after him and her fingers would wrap themselves around his empty palm. _Run, Sweetie._

But they never did and instead his mind became fixed on getting her back, getting her out of the hell he had inked her into. As every century raced past him, he permanently had his mind on his River, a new idea constantly evolving and refining a way to get her out of that god damn library.

He’d been so hopeful at first. He had eternity to make amends and he had the determination of a man with nothing to lose. But as attempt after attempt had failed, he had begun to lose heart. Each and every time another plan didn’t conjure his wife from her death, he felt his shoulders sink a little more. He always had her favourite dress ready for her in case he was successful, a brand new diary ready to be filled with her stories and a glass of wine freshly poured because Lord knows she’s going to want it.

But his efforts keep on failing and he finds it harder and harder, nigh on impossible, to think of another way to rip her from the pages of the library. The dress gathers dust, the pages yellow and the empty bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon pile in the corner of the console room. He tells himself he hasn’t given up because he never will. But…he’s resting. He’s taking a break from the relentless plan, refine, do, hope, wait, wait, wait cycle that he had repeated for hundreds of years.

And so he sits.

And he drinks.

River would laugh at him. In his hardest of times he had turned to such a humany coping mechanism. He’d always sighed and despaired at the humans he had seen drinking away their precious, limited lives. Didn’t they know their time was so finite? Their answers were not in the bottom of a bottle and every second they spent sinking their sorrows was another second they would never get back. He was never above a bit of sulking but your mistakes and sadness was there to learn from and there are no lessons to be learnt from blacked out memories and aching heads. But now he understands. It would be so nice to forget. Just for a little while. Just until he can gather enough courage to face another disappointment. Another glass of poured wine.

As he drains his glass, he sits on the steps of the console room, legs akimbo, his head heavy and Lord, he wishes the TARDIS would stop spinning for just one second. He doesn’t remember sending her into the vortex. Raising the glass to his lips, he falters as he realises he has already drank the last drops and the bottle next to him is knocked on its side, empty and discarded. He’s not entirely sure when that happened. Damn that bloody outer spacey alcohol with its abilities to make even the finest of species fall at its feet, inebriated.

And he finds himself thinking River would have loved seeing him like this. She would have adored him with limp limbs and heavy eyelids. He can practically see her, eyes shining and laughter at the corner of her lips. She would never have let him live this down, especially if she had known the reason he had lowered himself to drinking himself to oblivion was over her. Oh yes, she would have loved that. Revelled in it, in fact.

_And_ _you say you don’t care about me, Doctor. Would you let just anyone reduce you to a bumbling mess? Mind you, that’s not the first time I’ve done that, is it?_

She would have winked and laughed, then rolled her eyes and helped him make his way through the TARDIS corridors and fall into a deep sleep, curled into her side.

He thinks an hour ago he would have been sat staring at the door, wishing she would come through it and take his hands. He would have hoped for the teasing and the soft touches and the _oh, Doctor. What have you done?’s._

Half an hour ago he would have felt her presence beside him. He still did on the odd occasion. He’d hear her tutting as he left the brakes on. He’d catch her perfume on a cold winter day’s breeze. He’d feel intense eyes boring into him as he left behind another girl he should have been showing the universe. He was sure of it, but he’d never look towards the source of the noise or smell or _I can feel you watching me, Wife._

But he knows she’s not there. He knows it in his hearts, deep down in the parts that he tries to never dwell in, the parts reserved for the truths and realities that he will never face. She’s not coming back. He’d been so young and stupid that he had saved her, but he had cursed himself to a life of searching for an answer that he would never be able to find.

And really, what else did he deserve?

He’d spent all of his time with her trying to stop himself falling in love, trying to save her from an eternity of him, but it hadn’t worked. She had been cursed to love him from the very beginning and he would be cursed to love her until the very end and there was beauty in that somewhere, but he couldn’t quite see it through his drink-induced haze. All he knows is they are a bright, burning example of why not to fall in love.

He casts his eyes over his TARDIS and tries to focus on the gentle  _w_ _hoosh whoosh_ of the time rotors instead of the burning loneliness that courses through is veins. He can almost, _almost_ , see her, spinning around the console flicking switches and throwing her head back with laughter - at his own expense, of course. But he knows she’s just another oh so distant memory. She’s not here. He would never again bop her on the nose or see her disappear in a puff of time and static electricity. Or fall through his TARDIS doors in an evening dress, burnt and smouldering at the edges from a battle she had ran from. 

He wonders for a moment what, if he could chose, would be the last thing he would have said to her had the tables been turned; if it had been him who had stumbled upon someone so young, someone with no recollection of the centuries they had spent chasing each other across the universe. How does one sum up a lifetime of happiness and misery to somebody who hadn’t lived it? 

_Not one line,_ she had said. 

_Time and Space; you watch us run._

_Spoilers_.

His fingers tight on the warm glass still pressed into his hand and his eyes heavy with drink, he smiles sadly. He doesn’t think he would have ever been able to face a River who had no idea who he was; the hatred that had burnt in her eyes in Berlin was far better than the emptiness that must have shone through his in that godforsaken library all those years ago. 

So he decides to say nothing. She had always been so much better with words than him anyway. 

Instead, he raises his empty glass in a silent toast to the wife he had said goodbye to before he had even said hello. 

There was, after all, nothing more to say. 

The chase was over and he doesn’t think he’s lost because he had so much time with River Song …

…But he doesn't think winning should feel quite this sad. 

And as he stumbles to the bedroom he used to share with her, he tells himself that tomorrow is the day. Tomorrow he will find a way of pulling her from the pages of dusty old books and drop her back into her own twisty-turny fairytale, back with him where she belongs. He _will_ save her.

And as he falls asleep with the world spinning around him and the alcohol burning through his blood, he _almost_ convinces himself that he can.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well guys, this is my first fic and I have my fingers crossed pretty bloody tightly that you like it! All mistakes (and long rambling paragraphs with very little point to them) are my own!


End file.
